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BANNERS 



BABETTE 
DE-UTS CH 



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BANNERS 

BABETTE DEUTSCH 



BANNERS 



BY 

BABETTE DEUTSCH 




NEW ^SdT YORK 
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 



>&W83 

> 



Copyright, 1919, 
By George H. Doran Company 



Printed in the United States of America 



APR 28 1919 N ^ 
©CLA525290 



TO 

MY MOTHER 

AND 

THE MEMORY OF MY FATHER 



For courteous permission to reprint certain of 
these poems, the author thanks the editors of The 
Dial, The Liberator, The Lyric, The Maccabcean, 
The Nation, The New Republic, The North Ameri- 
can Review, Pearson's, Poetry (Chicago), Reedy 's 
Mirror, The Seven Arts, The Smart Set, The Sonnet, 
and The Texas Review. 



CONTENTS 
THE DANCERS 

PAGE 

THE DANCERS 13 

BACCHANAL 15 

ANNA 17 

A GIRL l8 

EXILES 19 

EPHEMERIS 

EPHEMERIS 23 

MARBLES 25 

TRAILS 28 

GENRE . 31 

GARDENS 32 

OMBRES CHINOISES 33 

DISTANCE 34 

SMOKE 36 

ROMANCE 38 

TWO HOKKUS .....' 39 

SHOWER 40 

"TO AN AMIABLE CHILD " 41 

THE DEATH OF A CHILD 43 

SEA-MUSIC 44 

HARMONICS 45 

— ix — 



CONTENTS 

SONGS AND SILENCES page 

SONGS 51 

SILENCE 52 

FROM THE FERRY 53 

WALLS 54 

DAWN 55 

CANDLES 56 

LURES 57 

SEA PIECE 58 

PRELIBATION 59 

SONNETS 

THE SILVER CHORD 63 

SIC SEMPER 64 

SOLITUDE 65 

THE UNDELIVERED 66 

ATHANATOS 67 

SEVERANCE 68 

THE PERFECTIONIST 69 

TO RANDOLPH BOURNE 70 

REDEMPTION 71 

BANNERS 

BANNERS 75 

THE CHALLENGER 78 

ALIENS 80 

king's PARK 82 

june: 1917 85 

the new dionysiac 88 

BEAUTY . 90 

PSALM FOR THE NEW ZION 92 

ZORKA 96 

ET LE BON DIEU PENSA 99 

— x — 



THE DANCERS 



THE DANCERS 

From the grey woods they come, on silent feet 

Into a cone of light. 

A moment poised, 

A lifting note, 

Ofair! O fleet! 

Whence did you come in your amazing flight? 

And whither now 

Do you, reluctant, wistfully retreat? 

Oh surely you have danced upon the hills 

With the immortals. 

As an arrow thrills 

Thru the blue air and sings, 

You join with the proud wind, your fluent limbs 

As tameless as his wings. 

Within your hollowed hand you hold the draught 

That wakes us from our lingering lethargy 

To skyey joy 

Like yours, luring and swift and free. 

Yours is the birth in beauty that was sung 

A golden age ago; 

And now you come 

—13— 



BANNERS 
iTHE dancers — continued 

With pipe and timbrel and the quickening drum, 

Till men have hope of conquest over time 

And death and tears. 

Dreams know not any bars. 

You leap like living music thru the air 

And love triumphant treads among the stars. 



—14— 



THE DANCERS 



BACCHANAL 

Slowly to the altar . . . slow, 

As with heavy feet, 

Bound by a woe foreknown, 

Slowly we come. 

Our arms bear high 

Their bloomy burden, lift and loose them all; 

We shake our limbs free in the purple fall 

Of offering. 

The dark is torn with a cry. 

Oh we are mad, 

We are drunk with wine of the god. 

Our feet are athrill with the juice of the vine we 

have trod. 
Our arms are upflung, 
Our fingers are spread on the air; 
The scent of the grape in our nostrils; 
The wind in our hair. 
We are mad with our maidenhood; 
Night has come down on the hills. 
We dance for the god 

—15— 



BANNERS 
bacchanal — continued 

Where the music of mystery fills 
The hollows of earth, and the stars leap white in 
the sky. 

Our glad hands softly beat. 

With beautiful stamping feet 

We come. 

With flying hair; 

To face the awful joining, 

Throat lifted, pale knees bare. 

Slowly on the dark mountain-top 

Moving, 

More slowly now . . . 

Faint and vague are our traces, 

Trouble and halt in our paces 

Where wan dawn follows close. 

God, we are overthrown. 

Night breaks, we lie alone. 

Evoe ! Dionysos. 



—i 6- 



THE DANCERS 



ANNA 

Are there holier ones 

Than these? 

Is there a more fit altar for worship? 

Limbs of a young Aphrodite; 

The virgin torso; 

Feet firmly planted, 

Or lifted only in rhythm, 

Beating the ground like the clear 

Round golden notes of the cymbal; 

Fingers that draw the heart 

Like a flute that calls in the twilight; 

Brows serious, 

Serene, 

Hair wind-blown and dark, 

Lips that are parted slightly, 

A wondering god's; 

But this is a maiden. . . . 

This is the flyng torch 

For the maternal temple. 



■17— 



BANNERS 



A GIRL 

You also, laughing one, 
Tosser of balls in the sun, 
Will pillow your bright head 
By the incurious dead. 



—i 8— 



THE DANCERS 



EXILES 

By what wind-loved grasses, 

By what grey sea 

Do they dwell, 

The restless ones, forever returning 

To the places their lovers remember? 

They are a moment seen, 

Tossing their golden balls, 

Or running far, far 

Beyond the sands where the skies vanish. 

They come again 

In the dawn twilight, 

In the bird-broken silences. 

But they are gone 

Ungathered — 

Cliff-flowers, 

The grace of foam 

Lost in the bitter green waters. 



■19- 



EPHEMERIS 



EPHEMERIS 



EPHEMERIS 

Above the river in a summer swoon 

Hangs the still air, and in the warm embrace 

Of afternoon 

We too lie dumbly, full of soft delight. 

The grass is sweet to smell: 

We suck the white 

Fresh ends of it, and the green pleasant place 

Where we are lapped seems with that faint taste 

sweeter 
Than any poppied isle in remote seas 
To some divinely drowsy lotus-eater. 
Long, long 

We lie, and have no care for any human thing, 
Save for the snatch of song 
Where, bathing gaily, tawny-bodied boys 
Up fling 

The water round them ; or from a child at play 
Floats the shrill ripple of laughter far away. 
And then sharp stillness, pointed by the stir 
Of little winds among the boughs, wherethru 
The deep sky shines impenetrably blue. 
—23— 



BANNERS 

EPHEMERIS — continued 

Wrapped in that golden haze we weave at will 
The scents and airs of summer's subtle loom; 
Regretting but the moments as they pass, 
The perished bloom 

Of the wan day, that like the wind is gone; 
And in the growing hush we watch her die ; 
And watch, beneath the same impersonal sky 
The wimpled river flowing greyly on. 



—24— 



EPHEMERIS 



MARBLES 

The boys are playing marbles in the street; 
Crouched with gay eyes intent on the rough 

ground, 
Heedless of storming labyrinthal feet, 
Keen only for the lovely sound 
Of knocking balls 
And colors brightly blent. 
Glazed potties, blue and green and lavender, 
Gleam near pale stonies' warm eburnean; 
Like earth and splintered diamond, agates shine; 
Glassies are struck alive with sun; 
Blood-alleys glow like drops of frozen wine. 
Here beauty lies : a bracelet all unstrung 
For the March city 
While she smiles and stirs 
Above the eager gamble, knuckle-down, of her 

young jewellers. 

Marbles, and March, the tossing wind, and the 

click 
Of ball on ball, and wild tumultuous cries, 

—25— 



BANNERS 
MARB LES — co n tinned 

Anger and laughter, adventure ! 
A glance and a thumb's short flick: 
Rubies and amber and lustrous Carrara to win. 
Hope jigs in the heart. 
White house-tops sail in the skies. 
Romance winks from the dust where the colored 
alleys spin. 



The clangorous traffic drowns the hurrying 

crowd's 
Nervous relentless tread. 
Sunset climbs down the clouds. 
Day and the wind are dead. 
There are separate ways in the dusk, and lonely 

shrill farewells. 
To lamplit windows and his narrow bed 
Each goes, a trifle wistful. 
Yet each knows 
Prodigious spells 

To charm the hours between sun and sun. 
The bulging pockets grin ; the spoils in reach 
Of gloating sight and touch all night must lie. 
Each has by heart their palpable smooth speech, 
Their singing colors' lullaby. 
—26— 



EPHEMERIS 

marbles — continued 

Marbles, and March, and the dreams of a soft 

Spring night: 
Prizes of amber and ivory, lapis and jade. 
An arrow of moving light. . . . 
They rouse at the joyous noise 
Of kissing balls 
To the thrill of games unplayed. 



i— 27— 



BANNERS 



TRAILS 

Where grey-limbed timber mingled whispering 

boughs, 
The forest shadow splintering the sun, 
Warm-eyed and suddenly very young, you stood. 
Palpitant nostrils breathed the smell of wood: 
"Growing, or fresh-cut, 
It's the smell of home." 
You moved and put your arms around a tree 
And laughed at me. 
And the boy you were, 
From the highest branch that bore his weight, 

laughed back. 
Then swinging free, 
You were a man again, 
Taking me down the wild-grown track 
To the fishing-brook where Spring would find you, 
Forgetful of the jerking hook, 
Conjuring out of the dusk behind you 
The genii and the heroes of your book. 
"This little brook is a feeder of the river," 
You said, and with strange adult gravity 
—28— 



EPHEMERIS 
TRAILS — continued 

Led me beyond the pebble-bottomed stream 
With wise talk of log-rolling, pretty grains, 
And strong, elastic beams. 
Your voice, caressing 
The woods you named, echoed a boy's 
Excited treble, and recalled the boy 
Leaping and like a leaf aquiver 
With joy, since he was going up the river 
To spend a week-end at the lumber-camp. 
That was a place of magic, if you like. 
Hard bunks, coarse food (the bread in peasant- 
hunks 
Like fairy-tales) , the huge rough strength of men, 
The early morning hours as fresh and cool 
As if earth had been dipped into a pool 
And still were dripping with it. 
Best, the times when they were busiest, 
Too busy to be mindful of a boy, 
And only flung the word: "Watch out, there!" 

when 
They tightened ropes, let big chips fly, and then 
Cleared for the monstrous crashing, loud and 

clean. 
It had your mark on it, one branching oak: 
The trunk was like a totem with its signs. 
—29— 



BANNERS 
TRAILS — continued 

But when the boughs rubbed and the leafage spoke 

With wind, the sound was like the soft slow roar 

Of ocean breaking on a distant shore. 

The forest thinned and vanished, the sky changed ; 

The boy was nowhere, and the man estranged. 

I stood perplexed in your familiar haunts, 

An alien; 

Time, with subtle taunts, had banished me outside 

the magic wood. 
Wonderfully, 

All the bright life that we had known together: 
The concert-rooms, the gossip, 
The mad weather 
We tramped thru gaily, 
The fencing over cigarettes and tea, 
The sweet fierce quarrels in the gallery. . . , ; 
Paled, faded, was the memory of a mood. 
Only the boy was real, and he had fled, 
And you had followed him. 
But you are dead. 



—30— 



EPHEMERIS 



GENRE 

The undulant wind-shadowed water lips 

The weather-bitten wharf. 

Like anchored phantoms, ships 

Swing out from the warped slips, with a drowsy 

rhythm 
As of insects singing. 
Inland, the sunwarmed smell of grass 
Comes softly on. 

There is a presence as of hours that pass 
In silence, and inhumanly are gone. 
The grey haze does not lift. 
The river is wood-colored like the pier. 
A lonely shed 

Down by the water's edge gleams harshly red. 
The tide is full . . . the worn piles heave and 

drift. 



—31— 



BANNERS 



GARDENS 

Into the dropping sun as into a warm flower 

The strong sun breaks. 

Petals on glowing petals shower 

In gorgeous rain, 

Crimsoning windows, dyeing the passionless city 

With wild pomegranate stain. 

The tropic hour 

Fades slowly, 

Slowly the evening flower 

Puts forth its luminous blues and lucent jades, 

Opening only to withdraw and close 

Before the unfolding of night's velvet rose, 

Trembling with starry dews. 

Gold is the scentless garden of the sky, 

Imperishably bright. 

Yet we who lie under its glory, crushing the young 

grass, 
Turn from it, as from beauty in a glass, 
To the flowers that spring near us, that will die. 



—32— 



EPHEMERIS 



OMBRES CHINOISES 

The city misted in rain, dim wet flashes of light 

Strike thru the dusk ; vaguely thunders a train ; 

The cabs rattle and slip over the glimmering street. 

Under the wheels and hooves and hurrying feet 

The darkly shining pave 

Reaches into the night. 

On blackness color flames: purple and blurs of 

red 
Like fruits of faery bloom, 
Yellow soft as honey and gold, green as tho 

crushed emeralds bled, 
Arctic blue in pale cold ribbons 
Lost in gloom. 

Wind, and across the shaken lanterns 
The obscure shadows loom. 



—33-* 



BANNERS 



DISTANCE 

Two pale old men 

Sit by a squalid window playing chess. 

The heavy air and the shrill cries 

Beyond the sheltering pane are less 

To them than roof-blockaded skies. 

Life flowing past them : 

Women with gay eyes, 

Resurgent voices, and the noise 

Of pedlars showing urgent wares, 

Leaves their dark peace unchanged. 

They are innocent 

Of the street clamor as young children bent 

Absorbed over their toys. 

The old heads nod; 

A parchment-colored hand 

Hovers above the intricate dim board. 

And patient schemes are woven, where they sit 

So still, 

And ravelled, and reknit with reverent skill. 

And when a point is scored 

—34— 



EPHEMERIS 
distance — continued 

A flickering jest 

Brightens their eyes, a solemn beard is raised 

A moment, and then sunk on the thin chest. 

Heedless as happy children, or maybe 

Lovers creating their own solitude, 

Or worn philosophers, content to brood 

On an intangible reality. 

Shut in an ideal universe, 

Within their darkened window-frame 

They ponder on their moves, rehearse 

The old designs, 

Two rusty skull-caps bowed 

Above an endless game. 



—35— 



BANNERS 



SMOKE 

Because it is evening, 

Because the last light lies 

In fading warmth on the housefronts and the grey 
street, 

Because the night clouds are overcoming the 
skies, 

The air comes sweet 

With the savor of a rare and delicate wine. 

Ambiguously I repeat 

The vain old pageant's movements, nor resist 

The soft demands of eyes. 

On a loud corner I may pause to stare 

After the massed backs of the moving throng; 

Swing to the syncopation of a song; 

Listen to the chatter of hurrying feet; 

And send delicate smoke into the air, 

Regarding the first lamps on the pale thorough- 
fare. 

I snuff the dust mingled with the perfume 

Of women of fashion; 

Taste night's early breath, 

-36- 



EPHEMERIS 

smoke — continued 

And the city's bloom. 

Because life is so barren of passion, 

I would sense death. 

Beauty passes like smoke on the wind, and delight 

Is sharp as the last puff of an exquisite cigarette. 

And should I fret because the vulgar night, 

With lost emotions and stale poignancies, 

Stabs with the chill acuteness of a knife 

Offering life ? 



—37" 



BANNERS 



ROMANCE 

There are shy woods 

Of quickening thin boughs, 

Pale jade, alive. 

There is a wind, 

A tempest and a roar of beaten waters, 

Agape with laughing fangs. 

There is a darkness, 

Tender, terrible. 

Gestic, or I remember. . . i? 



—38— 



EPHEMERIS 



TWO HOKKUS 

Answer 

You ask for a hokku. 

Ask for silence, rather. 

It is like trying to ride past the sun. 

It is like the words of farewell 

Before a final parting. 

Screen Pattern 

The hounding wind 

Runs shrieking thru the dark.; 

From a black cloud 

The moon gleams like a tiger 

Amber-eyed. 



-39— 



BANNERS 



SHOWER 

From the clear melancholy sky 

The rain 

Drops in long shaken sheets, 

And softly hops on the wide, glistering streets, 

And dully flows 

Through emptied thoroughfares, 

Where a few solitary cabs parade 

Like slow defeated ghosts none living knows, 

For whom none living cares. 

Till lightning quivers and harsh thunder breaks 

On startled ears 

And wakes 

Old wonders and old fears. 

The huddled folk 

Stare outward at wind-swollen gusts 

And the down-driven smoke, 

And at the sky, 

Defended by complacent surety 

Of a near hour when they need not pause 

For drenching winds and bolts beyond their laws. 

—40— 



EPHEMERIS 



"TO AN AMIABLE CHILD" 

You were an amiable child. 

Not as the other children were, 

Petulant, pouting, 

You would wear your half-grown wisdom 

With an air of humor; 

And you laughed less than you smiled. 

And you were largely tolerant 

Of company and rainy days and common games. 

you did not want. 
You were so still, but radiant 
When life was good. 
And more than food or play, 
Music you loved, and motion and 
Beauty you could not understand 
In voice and face and golden weather. 
Yet sometimes for whole days together 
You wore your silence like a shield; 
You who could yield 
As graciously to death as to your nurse 
At bedtime, hopeful of prodigious dreams. 
Now here you lie. 

—41— 



BANNERS 

"to an amiable child" — continued 

But too unmindful of sweet dreams or waking, 

For all the birdsongs and the blossoms breaking 

Above your grave, 

Or wondering strangers making 

What tale beseems your faint quaint epitaph. 

Now rank sods cover 

The dust of lovely limbs, and all the show 

Of your beloved ways is strangely over. 

Yet there's some comfort in the world to know 

That you were dear and fair, and still must be 

Remembered so. 



—42^ 



EPHEMERIS 



THE DEATH OF A CHILD 

Are you at ease now, 

Do you suck content 

From death's dark nipple between your wan lips? 

Now that the fever of the day is spent 

And anguish slips 

From the small limbs, 

And they lie lapped in rest, 

The young head pillowed soft upon that indurate 

breast. 
No, you are quiet, 
And forever, 

Tho for us the silence is so loud with tears, 
Wherein we hear the dreadful-footed years 
Echoing, but your quick laughter never, 
Never your stumbling run, your sudden face 
Thrust in bright scorn upon our solemn fears. 
Now the dark mother holds you close ; „ . . o, you 
We loved so, 
How you lie, 

So strangely still, unmoved so utterly, 
Dear yet, but oh a little alien too. 

—43— 



BANNERS 



SEA-MUSIC 

There is a place of bitter memories 
Dreary and wide and lonely as the sea, 
Foaming and moaning; there they come to me 
Like wild gulls crying sea-taught monodies ; . . . 
Iron-winged hours, heavy, heavy with dread; 
Dawn after death; the sound of a shut door; 
And shining love that has a withered core ; 
The eyes of those who fight and starve for bread. 
There is doom, and change, and silence, and deny- 
ing; 
Memories of these pluck at the heart of me. 
And over the bitter roar of the old dumb sea 
The air is filled with the noise of wild gulls 
crying. 



^-44" 



EPHEMERIS 



HARMONICS 

I have come here to be free for an hour or two, 

To relinquish to a darkness richly lit, 

To the silken movement of infiltering crowds, 

The music, the noisy thrill of dischords preluding 
it,— 

The morning's fret and the night's restless argu- 
ment. 

The quarrelling strings and the dim stage are kind, 

Rest is in the curtain's velvet fall. 

Lovely indifferent strangers put poverty out of 
the mind. 

The mutter of traffic is exquisitely drowned 

By the low bright liquid swell of belling sound. 

I forget . . . 

The miles of mud, 

The barren world of mud 

And fire; pulling at the boots and biting at the 
flesh. 

The watery world 

Of sinking corpses. 

The filthy dawns, 

—45— 



BANNERS 
harmonics — continued 

The flames that crack darkness open and limbs 

apart. 
The monstrousness of the unthinkable dead, 
The unthinkable living. 

The estrangement from known face and places, 
The going home to a heap of stones ; 
The monotonous machinery of hell. 
I had forgotten. . . . 
The music abruptly stopped, 
Chatter arose and applause. I was aware 
Of moving heads, of the close fragrant air, 
The flutter of a programme dropped. 
I had forgotten the concert-hall 
And why I was there. 
I passed to the red-lamped exit, 
And hearing the newsboys cry 
Beckoned. 

The pennies jingled; all at once it seemed 
Terrible to live, 
But curious to die ; 
And over the music and under the roar of the 

street 
The headlines were nothing but print that 

screamed. 

— 46— 



EPHEMERIS 
HARMONICS — continued 

There was a sound of war 

And of defeat. 

I stood there staring at the sunset sky. 



—47— 



SONGS AND SILENCES 



SONGS AND SILENCES 



SONGS 

I would make songs for you: 

Of slow suns weighing 

Thru pale mist to the river, overlaying 

Gold upon silver tissue ; or the hush 

Of winter twilight when the bushes quiver 

Blooming with birds; 

Of the easy snow; 

Of patient streets, or the theatric glow 

Of lamps on crowding faces in the night; 

Of sudden gay encounters without words; 

Of sorrow quiet in a huddled fight; 

Of the release of April winds; 

Of death, 

That is a stillness without peace, — 

Like love, wherefor I am so dumb to you. 



—51— 



BANNERS 



SILENCE 

Silence with you is like the faint delicious 
Smile of a child asleep, in dreams unguessed: 
Only the hinted wonder of its dreaming, 
The soft, slow-breathing miracle of rest. 
Silence with you is like a kind departure 
From iron clangor and the engulfing crowd 
Into a wide and greenly barren meadow, 
Under the bloom of some blue-bosomed cloud; 
Or like one held upon the sands at evening, 
When the drawn tide rolls out, and the mixed 

light 
Of sea and sky enshrouds the far, wind-bellowed 
Sails that move darkly on the edge of night. 



-52— 



SONGS AND SILENCES 



FROM THE FERRY 

The wind blew salty from the bay, 
Darkly the river rose, 
Lights on the farther shore were pale 
As when the first star shows. 

Our faces lifted to the night, 
The air was like a boon ; 
We were as close as lovers are, 
And alien as the moon. 



—53- 



BANNERS 



WALLS 

The cliffs were terrible. Black flint 
Rearing upon the sky; 
In futile patterns shadowy boughs 
Laced their immensity. 

We moved at the dark granite foot; 
In our old bantering tone 
We talked and laughed. Beside us, truth 
Stood with a face of stone. 



—54— 



SONGS AND SILENCES 



DAWN 

Over hushed lawns a pale grey arch, 
Vague walls took sharper form; 
Beyond, the quiet water lay, 
Flickering dark and warm. 

Farther, the city: clustered lights, 
Dimmed where the sky-line glows; 
Sleep hovered on the freshened air; 
You laughed ... the new sun rose 4 



—55— 



BANNERS 



CANDLES 

Joy lights the candles in my heart 
When you come in, until it seems 
The racing flames must fill the room 
With Marathons of gleams. 

The place where we are met is gay 
And glowing with the darting rout, 
Till going, you swing wide the door, 
And blow them out. 



—56- 



SONGS AND SILENCES 



LURES 

Swart rusty pine-boughs hold 
Thin threads of pallid gold. 
At the white high-road's turn 
Coppery bushes burn. 
The sky is clear and green. 
The light is hard and keen. 
But sharper, shriller, cries 
Jour absent face . . .your eyes. 



-57- 



BANNERS 



SEA-PIECE 

Dunes overthrown by the wind lie prone to the 

twilight; 
Held in the foam-darkened hollows and softly 

moving 
Over the pallid sea-marge in slow resurgence 
Whispers the ocean. 

Threads of foam in the fine sands lingering faintly 
Sink as we watch. The touch of the air is colder. 
Swift the oncoming clouds. Your lips upon my 

lips 
Salt with the sea-wind. 



—58— 



SONGS AND SILENCES 



PRELIBATION 

Ghostly scent of boughs that stir in the darkness, 
Fresh the fine dark dews, the thick stars distant, 
Earth one star that swings in the luminous 

heavens : 
These are our terror. 

Blind and bright, they look upon nameless lovers; 
In their light the ravishing years are looming; 
You must go from my arms. One will take you, 
Death, or estrangement. 



—59— 



SONNETS 



SONNETS 



THE SILVER CHORD 

A frosty silence, blank as the wide spaces 

Of drifted snow, broods on the brilliant air. 

Green lakes of ice lie in the white embraces 

Of wind-swept meadows, under skies as bare. 

Beyond, shrouded in smoky rose, the hills. 

A pale, bright sun, enmeshed in sombre boughs, 

Threads these with ruddy haze. And quiet fills 

The hollows where the shadow-bringers drowse. 

Quiet is resonant as some deep bell; 

Beauty like music echoes in the brain. 

The snow-lit clarity is palpable. 

Here is profound appeasement . . . here is pain. 

Only the infinite impersonal moves 

So poignantly the finite heart that loves. 



—63— 



BANNERS 



SIC SEMPER 

Hush broods on the pale fields under the spell 
Of the dim sky and its half-hearted stars. 
Only the dwindling winds in their soft swell 
Stir the dark boughs and their flung shadow-bars. 
All hidden lights, all muffled noises seem 
To lie beyond the grey horizon's edge. 
Here is the timeless silence of a dream, 
And we two ghosts who keep a wordless pledge. 
But with so small a warning, suddenly 
Fragrance swoops down upon us like a storm 
That leaves us clutching, clinging humanly; 
With your two arms about me, tense and warm. 
And the sweet night is hid, as by a wall, 
And love, low-voiced, fierce-fingered love is all. 



—64— 



SONNETS 



SOLITUDE 

There is the loneliness of peopled places: 
Streets roaring with their human flood ; the crowd 
That fills bright rooms with billowing sounds and 

faces, 
Like foreign music, overshrill and loud. 
There is the loneliness of one who stands 
Fronting the waste under the cold sea-light, 
A wisp of flesh against the endless sands, 
Like a lost gull in solitary flight. 
Single is all up-rising and down-lying; 
Struggle or fear or silence none may share; 
Each is alone in bearing, and in dying; 
Conquest is uncompanioned as despair. 
But I have known no loneliness like this, 
Locked in your arms and bent beneath your kiss. 



-6s— 



BANNERS 



THE UNDELIVERED 

Out of the night an angry woman crying, 
A typist clicking on, the clink of glass, 
Laughter, a tenuous music, all denying 
The whole dark silence of the sky. These pass; 
The lighted windows blacken, one by one ; 
The stealthy noises of the late hours cease ; 
Anger and business, mirth and love are done; 
Safe in sleep's umber envelope of peace. 
Safe, as in death, they lie ; tho with day's breaking 
They stir uneasy limbs once more, and know 
The dull familiar trouble of awaking, 
And all night's soft forgettings swift to go. 
They have had release; but the unsleeping, these 
Are prisoners who have thrown away the keys. 



—66- 



SONNETS 



ATHANATOS 

When you have known the swing of every ship ; 
Obeyed brute winds on loud enormous seas; 
Lingered to watch the hungry waters lip 
Bold foreign quays; and wearied of all these: 
Wearied of changing lights and changing faces, 
And the perennial sun, rising and setting; 
Rapt from the lure of unfamiliar places, 
Adventure will be finding and forgetting. 
After a hundred cities' shifting streets, 
After lost landmarks, charred with blackened fire, 
When pulses falter, shamed by small defeats, 
There is an end of labor and desire. 
Art fades, wars fail, and shrinking tides depart; 
Nothing endures but the compassionate heart. 



_6 7 - 



BANNERS 



SEVERANCE 

In the fierce rhythm of love we two were swung 
As tho to hidden music, while the flood 
Of our insurgent passion throbbed and sung 
To the staccato thrilling of our blood. 
All else was silence : silence in the trees, 
Deep silence in the meadows, and the sky 
One vast dark arch of silence. All these 
Quiet before our close-locked bodies' cry. 
Yet a rebellious brain could question still, 
Weaponed with fear and with proud reason, come 
To thwart and torture love's blind-lidded will, 
To sunder those strained limbs, quivering and 

dumb. 
And I could taste estrangement in your kiss; 
Embraced, we could yet seek, and seeking, miss. 



—68— 



SONNETS 



THE PERFECTIONIST 

Among the vain confusion of the crowd 
He bore like wind, with sudden music fraught; 
Following beauty like a fiery cloud 
Beyond to the far, frozen peaks of thought. 
As ice, his lucid passion burned and shone, 
Wherein he saw the vulgar pageant pass: 
The shadow of God, and kindling, stared upon 
His own stern image wavering in the glass. 
The vision broke. Crashing in fragments round 

him, 
His insubstantial universe came down. 
His mirrored self was splinters to confound him, 
He struggled blindly, seeing himself drown. 
But the dark face of God he sought to see 
Wore death's grotesque familiarity. 



-6 9 - 



BANNERS 



TO RANDOLPH BOURNE 

So you are dead. Forever foreign now; 

Yet more accessible than when you moved, 

With awkward ambling steps and ominous brow, 

Among the furniture of life you loved. 

You were so fragile and so pitiless; 

The games we played with you were rich in dread: 

You had a devil — and a god, I guess. 

Now you are proud no longer, being dead. 

You scorned the ivory tower, yet obeyed 

Truth with most monkish fervor, in a cell 

Cramped as your joys. And precious as a maid, 

Your lonely mind was incorruptible. 

Your diamond flame burned keen; but now you 

are 
Familiar as the fire of a star. 



—70- 



SONNETS 



REDEMPTION 

Like children wakeful in the night, alert 

For some sad sound of the deserted street, 

We too discard our toys, and stare, inert, 

At walls of black estrangement and defeat. 

We sicken with the sound and smell of war. 

Among our best, devouring fingers thrust; 

And life is hateful, bitter at the core. 

The world goes out — a candle in a gust. 

We are in the dark, and terrified or tired, 

As those who move, with groping hands, to bed, 

Rather than any joy we once desired, 

We crave the long blind void of being dead. 

But in a curving limb, a choric cry, 

Beauty throbs stronger than the will to die. 



—71— 



BANNERS 



BANNERS 



BANNERS 

("The national colors, with their eagles, have 
given place to plain red flags, one of which floats 
over the famous Winter Palace, where the Duma 
will now meet." Newspaper clipping; March, 
1917.) 

When on the sun-spawned earth 

First the mothering light 

Dawned on her dark, 

What stirred in the dark? 

The brute was groping there, 

Lured from his rock-hewn home 

By the beckoning spark. 

A slow, earth-smattered thing, 

With the smell of the earth on his hair — 

His, in the dawn of the world, 

His, in a cave impearled, 

His was the first great spring 

To the red dawn, to the fire. 

The caves are buried. 

The mammoth-hunter 

—75— 



BANNERS 
banners — continued 

Is dust upon the dust he trod. 

Yet here upon a richer sod 

The serf of later ages, burnt with toil, 

Stood free, 

And saw the fruits of his own soil 

Glowing like dawn. 

And here the cities see 

Among their clustering lights and smoke, new 

days, 
New freedoms, and new slavery. 
But now, as from beneath the deep earth-floor 
The seed of flame beats upward, raging higher, 
Now breaks the noise of people roused to war, 
Who take their own like fire. 
Their flag is fire: 
Color of the red sun 
On the horizon of the cave-man ; one 
With the color that is spilled over the earth 
In every battle, with every shuddering birth. 
Blood of the beaten slave, of the faithful crucified, 
Blood sapped from the worker, blood of all who 

died 
To nourish the new soil wherefrom should spring 
The unknown desired thing. 
This flag a nation takes, to stud 
-76- 



BANNERS 
banners — continued 

The battle-fields with beauty. 

Oh when you behold it whipping in the wind, 

Color of dawn and of your own heart's blood, 

Soldiers, 

Will you not rise 

From earth-trench and sea-hollow where you keep 

Your tryst with death, 

And wake out of your sleep, 

And see with the cave-man's eyes 

That the day is here, and this is the sunrise ! 

Come, as the brute from the dark, with a mighty 

leap 
To the red dawn, to the light. 



—77- 



BANNERS 



THE CHALLENGER 

I SHALL give you the keys to the gates of the four 

winds, 
To the temple of the sun. 
The ocean arches 
Will fall, 

The night will crumble. 
Cities of men will lie, puny toys, to your hand. 

In. the palpitant earth, 
In the clashing of waters, 
Crying in the quenchless skies 
Rises your will. 
Red, a leaping fire; 
Cold, a sword. 

Am I a god that you worship? 
A lover that you pant toward me? 
Am I death, whose lap is slumber? 
You do not know me. 
In the void you seek, 
In the furtive darkness, 

-78— 



BANNERS 
THE CHALLENGER — continued 

In pain, glory, adventure. 

I cast time behind me, the rind of the fruit. 

I go naked and happy 

To the fearless peaks, 

The brooding. 

You do not see 

The night of the womb. 

You do not hear 

The voice of the lightning. 

You do not clasp 

The body of war. 

I shall bring you to the gates of the four winds. 
I shall open to you the temple of the sun. 



-79— 



BANNERS 



ALIENS 

The mad go softly- 
Hidden in terror. 
Their fear protects them. 

Yet they are lonely. 

Oh, lonely ones, 
Who heed neither 
Harsh skies nor cruel people 
Who go, dancing or crying, 
Forever solitary, 
You I love better 
Than the sane, 

Who are one voice and one movement of multi- 
tudes. 

You, Tamerlane, 
Astride Asia, 
You with the whip; 
You living secretly 
With shame, the dark bedfellow; 
—80— 



BANNERS 

ALIENS — co n tinned 

You, on the fringe of the crowd, 
Fleeing the empty day; 
You in the dark of the wind 
On the sounding mountains. 

You have no commerce with death, 

The world-devourer, the worshipped. 

You are alone. 

Night hides in your eyes. 

Silence 

Clasps you. 

The mad do not hunger. 

In them is chaos crying. 

Their flesh does not yearn with a sweet ache. 

They would hold the sun from the heavens. 

The mad do not sleep. 

Their destroying laughter 

Breaks their dreams. 

The mad go softly 

Hidden in terror. 

Their fear protects them.j 



—8 1- 



BANNERS 



KING'S PARK 

One by one they come into the room, 

Silent, strange, with incurious glances. 

Some are gay, with a child's irrelevant laughter, 

But most, shut off 

From the winter sunlight and the sound of human 

voices, 
Incredibly remote. 

One schemes for wealth ; one boasts, remembering 
Gossip and rhymes and lovers of old time, 
Till like a wilful girl she runs away, 
A childish joke upon her hanging lip. 
But the dreadful dignity of one 
Is consummated by his utter stillness. 
His pale eyes fix an immanent world, 
No flicker 

Of light, no needle-point of pain 
Reaches him where he stays, removed, immobile, 
Bound by what grief none knows, 
Or if a wanderer in some dread labyrinth none 

penetrates 
Its great blind wall. 

—82— 



BANNERS 
king!s park — continued 

Trembling old men, and dull-eyed boys, and 

women 
Who have outlived a lingering prettiness, 
They are all here, 

Silly and wild and mute, but all are mad. 
All chatter out of tune 
With time and memory; 
All play with broken toys, ardors and fears 
That have no meaning in them. 
All their eyes 

Are bent on vacancy or on the ground 
As tho to pull out of blank space the thing 
They clutch at, but can never touch. 
They are the prisoners of their own souls, 
Dwelling in a yet more horrid jail 
Than even human savagery builds for human 

savages to suffer in. 
Well, and are they for this a race apart 
From those who pity and hate their tragic case? 
Has none of these slain his own children, none 
Been plundered or else plundered prudently? 
Has never one 

Lost virtue or courage, maybe failed in both? 
Has none if such befell 
Not borne the burden? Or have all been still, 

—83— 



BANNERS 
king's park — continued 

Serene, and brave, nor cared for anything 
That happened to them in their careful lives? 
That's a blind alley. But one thing is plain: 
There are walls too thick for intercourse, and 

walls 
Too thin for privacy, and walls 
Not to be climbed this side eternity; and we all 

live in walled cities. 
There's a sound of festival 
Or there's a noise of war, 
And sometimes shattered stones come tumbling 

down 
And leave us in an open desolate place 
Where nothing moves 
But fear. 



^84— 



BANNERS 



JUNE: 1917 
(class day poem) 

As one who from the dark 

Star-crowded sky 

Turns, to renew his sense 

Of the rough earth he knows, and human faces, 

So from the vasts of wisdom we stand back, 

Amazed by searching impotence. 

But as the man who stares into the void 

Cannot forget 

The wonder and the hush and the desire 

Of the stupendous spaces pricked with fire, 

We grope among our commonplaces, 

Star-blinded yet. 

For we have seen 

Out of time's ashen dawn, the brute 

Clamber along his lonely cliffs, to light 

The fire that would not die till it had fought 

Slow centuries of night, 

And shown 

The first man's passionate children struggling on 

Fiercely to goals unknown. 

-85— 



BANNERS 
JUNE: 1 9 17 — continued 

Shut from the personal battle, we have striven 

With all the war-scarred nations, and been driven 

Across all weathered continents and seas. 

And breathless, we have watched the alchemies 

Of all the wonder-workers. 

We have heard 

Oceans throbbing shells 

With every word and pulse of truth. 

And words have been 

Our toys and tools. 

Whatever we have wrought 

Has been in the enkindling strife of thought. 

But now the sun 

Marks off the day with shadows. 

We must go 

From our golden playground, 

Into the streets of unfamiliar woe 

And miserable death. 

Yet we have watched 

The stars leap from the mother-orb, 

And man, rejoicing in the earth that bore him, 

run 
To worship, dancing. 
And those few, 
By whose heroic gesture the world broke 



BANNERS 
june: 1917 — continued 

From slavery, 
We have beheld them too, 
And something in us woke 
Once 

That will wake again at the thought of these. 
And there will stir in us at the memories 
Of them 

The old strong will, 

We shall have done with the ancient agonies. 
Something there is in us to answer the thrill 
Of things untried, and a dream like a flag un- 
furled 
Beckoning on, wins the youth in us still, 
The spirit, moving ever to things unseen, 
Moving us too, 
Youth overcoming the world ! 



-87- 



BANNERS 



THE NEW DIONYSIAC 

Tawny, swift, silent, comes 

October, with her nights like tightened drums. 

The hunter stalks the hills. . . . 

Thrown to the great blind sky 

Shrills the new Dionysiac, and beats 

The old, nocturnal cry. 

Thru the deep mountains sound 
Echoes like autumn thunder, 
Storming of feet that hound, 
Voices of joy that wound 
Men's minds with savage wonder. 

Out of the ancient years 
Plucked from the mystic vine, 
Plucked with a sword for shears, 
Pressed with brooding and tears, 
Theirs is the utter wine. 

The unforgotten places, 

The paths that their sisters trod 



BANNERS 
the new dionysiac — continued 

Are theirs, and the woven traces 
Theirs, and under their paces 
The very body of God. 

The winds and the night, the fire and the singing 

fail. 
The fury falters, the dancers falter and cease. 
They have crowned the darkness with splendor; 
With a red veil 

They have bound the brows of the hills; 
And filled the night 
With torches and triumph, with laughter and 

lifted knees. 

Out of the tumult of the darkness, dawn 

Comes, wan as these, 

With wine-red feet unshod. 

Sprung from the death they scattered, as a god 

In terror and beauty: 

Peace. 



-89- 



BANNERS 



BEAUTY 

Beauty is kindled like a fire 
Flung on our common moments: 
A bright spur 
To wingless, lapsed desire. 
She is briefly seen 
In the untarnished sky, 
And in the liquid amber and evening green, 
Or in blue-glooming dusk that falls 
As a madonna-cloak, and holds 
The hushed world wound 
In blue voluptuous folds. 
She is not married to the stars, 
But glows 

In rusty boughs that stain the quiet snows ; 
In pearly streets, dim-lit; 
In shop-windows 

Shining with glamorous things that cry for touch 
And thrilling ownership. 
All rainy nights are hers. 
She vastly flows 

In frozen rivers slow to find the sea. 
—90— 



BANNERS 
BEAUTY — continued 

And in the moving wind invisibly 

Unstable stirs. 

And she is caught 

In music, vibrant in the violin, 

In the full choir 

And the unequal, thin 

Chant of a child, and in young laughter or 

Words singing on a wire. 

She leaps with fluent limbs 

And subtly lies 

In gesture and the tangent beam of eyes. 

She wavers in slow eddying bands of smoke, 

In glimmering shape, and in the rhythmic stroke 

Of swimmers. And her breath 

Is fresh with forest-smells. 

Twisted in sinuous roots, or bodiless 

On friendly odors borne, 

And like the autumn sky alight with death, 

Great beauty dwells. 

But tho she wear the very sign of doom, 

Like Bacchus' broken body scattered far, 

She yet shall work her will 

And in recurrent wonder she shall bloom. 

Not the unchanging godhead, the fixed star, 

But the windy torch, and the pulse and thrill 

That all eternal are. 

—91— 



BANNERS 



PSALM FOR THE NEW ZION 

Lift up your voices, daughters of Zion! 
Sing and rejoice with cymbals. 
Bind with fillets of silver, with leaves of gold 
And flowers of lapis and coral 
The brows that are smiling. 
Sound the low drums now. 
Blow the pipes for the dancing. 
Zion is risen again, 
Zion as a queen who was sleeping, 
Zion as a conqueror home from the heavy wars. 
For the years of your exile are done. 
From the footless route of the dunes, 
From the aching dark of the Ghettos, 
From the place of the scourge, 
Emerging, 

A moving river of faces, 
Proud blood that dumbly shouts, 
You return 

To the tents of your fathers, 
To the fields that mock the sunset skies with their 
beauty, 

—92— 



BANNERS 
psalm FOR THE NEW zion — continued 

To the mountains that rise like the sisters of happy 

giants, 
The mist-woven mountains of joy. 
Is it more than a dream. . . . 
In the shadow of the olives 
To look on the vine-wrapped hillocks 
Where the wine ripens in silence; 
To rest and to hear far off 
The soft song of the peasants; 
To ignore the gates of the pale 
At the sound of the twilight bell; 
To lean on the bridge and care for no one who 

passes; 
To give your wisdom the sinews of strength; 
To put the seal of the Pharaohs on the finger of 

your young wisdom. 
Sing, daughters of Zion, 
Sing and rejoice in the streets. 
For your mother is come, who was mourned for 
As Joseph in Egypt, . 

Sold to the thieves to be a slave of the nations ; 
Her brothers look upon Zion, 
Giver of loaves and honey, 
The companion of princes. 

~93— 



BANNERS 
psalm for the new zion — continued 

Zion is wakened, is risen. 

His eyelashes wet with the dew-fall. 

His limbs are girdled with lilies, 

His loins with the sheep-skin. 

His mouth is sweeter than roses, 

And his hair thick as the grape-leaves. 

Zion comes down from the mountains. 

In his breast there is slumber; 

But his heart is hot as the desert, 

Fierce as beasts in the thicket 

His riotous blood. 

Zion stands in the sun. 

Go, greet him with music, 

Clap your hands and your anklets. 

Dance till your garments flutter like white doves 

in the sunshine. 
He will give you young males 
Like lions. 

He will give you daughters like lilies, 
His kiss is honey and fire. 
Lift up your voice, oh Zion, 
For he returns as a lover 
Thru the eager dark, 
Like music; 

—94— 



BANNERS 
psalm FOR THE NEW ZION — continued 

The heart of the night is a song; 
And the morning 
Over the wild bright mountains 
Moves like a dancer. 



—95— 



BANNERS 



ZORKA 

"So the Orient door 

Was bolted by the Turk. 

Spices and ivory, black slaves, Chinese jades: 

The prizes Europe hungered for, 

Locked fast, until the last Crusades 

Belligerent for the cross that was the key. . . ." 

But a thousand years have passed 

Since that was told. 

History seems a tarnished age of gold. 

Time goes so slowly, there is so much suffering, 

So many scatterings, and such small ease in tears 

For the monstrous things 

Of a thousand years. 

Now the old kings are fled. 

They have gone in a sudden panic from their 

thrones. 
Death plays the triangle upon their bones. 
But the dark multitudes 
Who slowly file to the red funeral 

- 9 6- 



BANNERS 
zorka — continued 

Drown out his music with their conquerors' tread, 
Singing, with bloody banners over the common 

dead. 
Imperial majesty is fallen away 
To a purple cloak over a little clay. 
And holiness is gone from sacred places. 
Kaiser and czar, sultan and shah and sheik 
Are broken figure-heads upon the tide 
Of Bolshevik insurgence, in its wide, red flood 
From Petrograd, from Samarkand. . . . 
Europe holds Asia with a rope of sand. 



Out of earth's rocky craters, 

Blind with grime, 

From the dark furrows lifting startled brows, 

When the vast wheels and the hungry machines 

are still, 
Men listen to the striking of a new time 
Bolder than all the guns. 
In the grim dawn it sounds, 
And with the sun's slow whitening breaks upon 

the millions sleeping, 
And wakes them to old wounds, 
And to a silence louder than all weeping. 

—97— 



BANNERS 

ZORKA — co n tinued 

The East is red once more, 
Redder than war, 

As from the iron vigil, morning lifts 
A beautiful rebellious head. 



—98- 



BANNERS 



ET LE BON DIEU PENSA . . . 

Being past His first youth, 

When He had used strong hands 

To rend the dark, 

And blown on the stars like coals, 

Being past the time 

When He had swung earth by its fiery strands, — 

And seeing the little playthings He had wrought: 

Finished stone honey-combs, 

And the splendor of His thought 

Borne in frail ships looping the seven seas, 

God sat and smiled 

At the games that He had loved when God was a 

child. 
But now He was tired. He was middle-aged, 
And He did not care 
To build proud cities out of fluted sands, 
To traverse space for the sake of the sky's red 

fruit, 
Or boisterously to shout 
Like a young giant holding 
The world by its bright hair. 

—99— 



BANNERS 
ET LE BON DIEU pensa — continued 

He sat down in heaven 

Smoking hugely in His chair. 

But there were one or two things that troubled 

God. 
He still remembered His youth with joy, 
Tho He knew He had been less happy as a boy 
Than when He was older. 
But His griefs, like His other passions, had 

grown colder. 
He smoked, and pondered on His universe. 
It was not like His plan, 
Perhaps not worse, . . . 
And yet, He stared at the earth 
And suddenly He shook with wonderful mirth : 
It was filled with so many of His little idols — man. 
He had made this one thing in His image. 
It was like Himself in the first rough power of 

youth. 
It considered the various suns 
And the other things He had made 
As its own. 

It was not afraid even of Him. 
And that was the truth. 
He smoked and smoked. 
He wondered why He had cared 
— ioo — 



BANNERS 
ET LE BON DIEU pensa — continued 

To give it more than He gave 
To the nebulous worlds 
Or the lightning 
Or the fierce lovable brutes. 
He wondered how He had dared. 
For man was the cleverest creature He had made, 
And the meanest, too. 
And He sighed, sitting up there in heaven, 
Over His pipe, 

And all He had intended to do. 
Now He was middle-aged, 
Probably that was the reason 
He felt so old and despaired 
Of all the fine traps He had laid 
And the poor things He had caught and caged. 
But He took another long pull, 
And He thought again, 
There were all the stars, 
And the planets, 

There was the sun, and the moon that was dead. 
There was that fantastic earth, 
And its multiple creatures, 
Forever dying and forever coming to birth, 
The monstrous tropic beasts, 
The ocean's million fins, 
— 101 — 



BANNERS 
ET le bon dieu pensa — continued 

The million wings that fan the ambient air, 
The numberless exquisite microscopic, everywhere. 
And there was still man. 
God laughed noiselessly, as only God can. 
He was wondering why 
He had made man at all, 

So, His thought wandering to the story of the fall, 
He reached out carelessly and plucked an apple 
Of pale golden lustre, from the sky. 
And as He munched with solemn satisfaction 
He was still bothered by the mystery 
Of His small idol. 
For it was intricate and delicate 
And had an ancient history 
Bloody and beautiful and adventurous. 
And God wondered why He had made it thus, 
And why He was in such simple slavery 
To the thing He had made. 
He threw away the core, 
And felt His years, and just a touch afraid. 
He thought of His long sacrifice to man, 
And how He had bowed to this idol, 
Fasted and prayed, 
And shaken before its power, 
And how He had had faith 
— 102 — 



BANNERS 
et le bon dieu pensa — continued 

When it showed only wrath and empty hands, 

And how when all He had done seemed gone for 
nought 

He felt that man, His idol, understands. 

He remembered darkly His creature furious 

Because He had scorned it, 

And how with rich burnt offering He had sought 

To appease it. 

And He thought how it was hungry, wilful, curi- 
ous, 

And it was the image of Himself that He had 
wrought. 

And then He thought 

In His infinite wisdom 

That if He had not made this creature 

Man would have made himself. 

God needed no preacher 

To tell Him this. He was at least as wise as you. 

And in His wisdom He laughed to think that that 
was true. 

And so God pondered, smoking, 

And smiling, in heaven. 

But it was getting late, so He arose 

And yawned with His whole body 

And decided 

—103— 



BANNERS 
ET le bon dieu pensa — continued 

That, being middle-aged, He had to sleep. 

And tho He never derided prayer, 

He was sure 

His idol would forgive Him if He went 

To His pleasant couch without that sacrament. 

But before He slept He looked with all His eyes 

At the distant earth, 

And blessed with all His heart 

Man and his works, 

That were the best part of God's own youth. 

And on that mystery 

He turned and went to bed and slumbered deep, 

Without dreams. 

God is now middle-aged. 

But He is still beautiful asleep. 



* — 104 — > 



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